Page 106 of Give Me What You Will

His belly swooped and he turned, kissing him. Sam’s mouth opened for him, letting his tongue taste and devour him lazily.

“Thank you,” Sam whispered.

“For what?”

He swallowed, a vulnerability suddenly there, and he reached out, soothing the tension around his lips with his thumb.

“I—I dunno,” he said, flushing.

Frankie smiled, kissing his blushed cheek. “Let’s shower, get some food in you, and maybe I’ll let you open your birthday gift a day early.”

“I thought I already had my birthday gift.” Sam’s hand touched his limp, deflated dick, thumbing the wet tip.

He drew his smart-mouth bottom lip between his teeth and sucked. “I was only the first half.”

Sam hummed, “There better not be a cake in your fridge.”

He had known for years that Sam wasn’t a fan of his birthday and shook his head reassuringly. “Just a six pack, wine, food, everything we need to be holed up for the weekend.”

Sam bent down, retrieved his pants, and handed Frankie his shirt.

“I did tell the boys you were gonna be here, and they may have mentioned stopping by the bar tomorrow night to hang out for a bit,” he said, pulling on his jeans, loving the dirty feel of Sam’s cum still on his ass and not cleaning it up.

Sam noticed this, too, and smirked before saying, “You sure you wanna hang out at the bar tomorrow? We don’t have to go there. They could come here…?”

“Where we’ve been fuckin’ each other all day and night? No, they don’t get to ruin my sex cave with you.”

Sam laughed. It was warm and bright. Just like him.

They showered together, letting the hot water work into their muscles as they soaped and lathered one another. Before either of them realized what was happening, they were at it again, cumming messily all over each other, panting and groaning, uncaring of the sloppy noises their bodies made or how loud they were upon climax.

They tumbled into Frankie’s bed and took a nap, Sam wrapped around him, his long arms and solid body pressed against his back. He never thought he’d love being the little spoon. Hell, he never thought he’d love getting railed against his car, but he did. And he was grinning like a fuckin’ idiot before nodding off, inhaling Sam's scent, familiar and… home.

Chapter 19

Sam’s eyes fluttered open, and he inhaled the bitter aroma of fresh coffee and something sweet. Smiling, feeling utterly silly, he rubbed his face into Frankie’s pillow, taking in his scent and sighing. Last night was incredible. Every night—day—time he had been with Frankie had been incredible. But this time, being here, in his home, after spending years sleeping on his couch, crashing after a long day at the hospital and not having the energy to drive to Papi’s, he finally woke up in Frankie's bed, in his sheets.

It felt surreal and perfect.

It was by far the best birthday ever, and the day hadn’t even begun yet.

He climbed out of the rumpled bed, glanced at his bag on the chair in the corner, and instead of grabbing something of his—he grabbed something of Frankie’s. It was an old boxing club T-shirt he used to fight in, the yellow lettering worn down on a faded black T-shirt. He slipped it on and, feeling a bit mischievous, pulled out gray sweatpants from Frankie’s dresser drawer.

Excitement bubbled in his stomach as he wondered how Frankie would react to him wearing his clothes. He hesitated at the doorway, eyes landing on the bed in the corner.

Nona’s old dog bed. Her favorite torn, green turtle stuffie resting on top of a folded, fluffy beige blanket. His heart twisted and he bent down, thumbing the turtle’s missing eye, thinking of all the times she would carry around this tattered old thing. He missed her, and clearly so did Frankie, who didn’t have the heart to donate her bed or things to the local animal shelter yet.

Exhaling the wave of emotion, Sam headed down the hallway and found Frankie—shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs that hugged his ass like lingerie. Sam came to an abrupt halt at the sudden image of Frankie, all coiled, hard, rippling muscle, wearing nothing but a soft, silky black thong that he could peel off with his teeth.

That would have to be for much, much later.

Frankie was new to the gay world, and he needed to take it slow. Slow was something neither of them was very good at, but still, he’d try for Frankie’s sake.

Frankie turned, as if sensing him. His dark brown eyes warmed, and his smile was broad and beaming.

“Good mornin’, birthday boy,” he drawled, flipping pancakes on the stove.

“Mornin’,” he replied, feeling oddly self-conscious seeing Frankie once again in the kitchen cooking for him.